


Murky Marshes

by The_Winter_Straw



Series: Where Gods Do Fear to Tread [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, F/M, Fluff, POV Second Person, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert, Sexual References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 22:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.Third in a part of eight responses to the "9 Months" challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archives.





	1. How It Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to the third part of my dopey Avengers pregnancy series! If you're just joining us, I would like to remind you that parts two through four DO NOT have happy endings! This here is my personal favorite, but it's probably not anyone else's because the challenge prompt I used for this one is ABORTION. I'm not here tryin' to change anyone's mind about abortion. I'm not here claimin' to be an expert on abortion or politics or what have you. I'm just a writer who doesn't want to back down from writing good stories about difficult things so I wrote a story where someone has an abortion. 
> 
> This one was written entirely in the late months of 2018, so this is the most recent thing I've posted to AO3!

You couldn’t explain just how you had wound up in the situation you found yourself in that June night after all was said and done. Not step by step, at any rate. The morning was clear enough: the bright white of your dress, the music of church bells, the lewd jokes of Tony Stark’s toast. There had been a quick car ride to follow, a long flight, checking in, riding the elevator, being carried over the threshold into your room, and now—

Now what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life had come to a screeching halt. Only the running of the sink covered the absolute silence sitting just outside the bathroom. Your reflection in the hotel mirror was paler than usual, and the reason for that was obvious: You were wearing the smallest amount of clothing you ever had before! If anyone spotted you wearing that getup—perhaps through a window or a secret camera installed in the bath—you’d have been arrested for public indecency on the spot.

Red-faced, you leaned forward and tried to breathe calmly. It was no mystery where this “sexy” underwear had come from. Cate—your older sister—hadn’t shut up about what she called your “granny panties” since she had discovered them in your luggage the night before.

_“What on earth are these?”_ she had crowed, holding them up for all your bridesmaids to see. _“I know Captain Rogers is a prude, but these wouldn’t even titillate_ him!”

With a groan, you pressed your forehead to the warm faucet. “I knew I should have checked my bags before we left!” you moaned to no one in particular as you turned the water off.

A knock on the door behind you caused you to stiffen in shock. You instinctively grabbed the hand towel and held it over your chest, but no one barged in. “[Name]?” came the sound of your husband’s voice, which did not relax you at all. “Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?”

“No,” you squeaked. “I’ll be out in a minute. Promise!”

Steve paused before answering, “All right.”

Only once you could be certain that he had retreated did you turn back around to face your reflection head on. “I’m going to _kill_ her when we get back. Violently.”

But you had no further time to consider how you were going to murder your US Army Sergeant sister, or explain to Sam why the murder of one of his patients was necessary. If you didn’t leave that bathroom soon, there was a good chance that you never would. Steve might have to come in and check on you, and then—oh God!—you would _really_ throw up. Heaven knew you’d spent the last hour in the bathroom trying not to.

No. No throwing up on your honeymoon. Steeling yourself, you looked yourself right in the [color] eyes, inhaled deeply, dropped the towel, and marched out the door into the luxurious suite that lay behind it. It was more dimly lit there, but you found Steve easily in what little lamplight there was. He sat perched at the very end of the room’s huge bed, staring pensively at his knees.

Unfortunately, you made enough noise that he spotted you at once—and promptly choked on what you could only assume was his own spit.

“Steve?” you said. He held up a finger, but continued to cough like his lungs were about to pop out. His face turned a shade of red that would have made Natasha’s hair envious. Hurriedly, you returned to the bathroom to fill a cup with water before going to sit next to him. Steve swallowed the drink in one enormous gulp while you gave his wide shoulders several tentative pats.

After a few minutes, he was able to speak again, though he only managed to croak, “So?”

“So…what?” you asked.

He nodded tremulously at your abdomen. “What _is_ that?”

You immediately felt your entire face burn. In your worry over Steve, you’d forgotten what you were wearing. If only you had thought to change into something, _anything_ , else! Even your bathing suit would have been better, unless, of course, Cate had swapped that out, too. It being a one piece, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Cate traded out the lingerie I packed,” you said weakly. “She must’ve thought it’d be a funny joke.”

“That’s supposed to make me laugh?”

“I think the word she used was ‘titillate.’”

“Is that what I’m feeling right now?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“What do you feel?”

“Naked,” you said, finding your own knees very interesting just then. “Very naked.”

In the quiet that followed your proclamation, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. Steve’s face remained pink, but he seemed to be coming back to himself. If only you could have done the same. That was impossible, however, for as long you were wearing what you were wearing.

“I’ll go change,” you said, but your attempt to stand halted with a hand around your wrist.

“No,” Steve said. When you shot him a curious look, he added, “Please?”

“Does this mean you’re titillated?”

“You know, I think I just might be.”

Just as a smile pushed up the corners of your lips, he gently pulled you back onto the bed. Soon he hovered above you, running his beautiful eyes down your body like it was a work of art he was trying to memorize for a painting. Then his mouth came down on yours, warm and wet and soft, and you kissed him in return, greedily, until he had to breathe again.

At once, your fingers moved to his collar to remove his shirt. Lucky Steve didn’t have to remove _his_ clothes to look sexy. Unfortunately, you didn't get very far before he arrested your momentum once more with a hand over yours. His ears had gone dark again.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him.

“I just, uh, that is…” he cleared his throat as he forced himself to look at your face, “I don’t really know how to do this.”

“That's okay. Neither do I.”

“You’re my first—well, you’re my first everything, really, and I don’t know what it is you’re expecting…”

“I’m not expecting anything.”

“Tony gave me a few tips, but I’m not sure if—”

“Steve.” You pressed your free hand to his cheek. He fell silent. “Anything Tony suggested is probably too advanced for us. Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

He didn’t look convinced. “Okay.”

“Really. If we get to a point where we don’t like it, we’ll stop. We don’t ever have to have sex again. I’ve gone this long without it. I think I’ll live if it’s not a regular part of my life.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” you answered, and leaned up to kiss him a second time. “I’m new to this, too, you know. I won’t know if you suck at it—and you won’t.”

Steve offered you a hesitant smile. “And you’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

“Absolutely.”

How had you ever landed yourself a guy as sweet as Steve? That you’d never know. Two things you did know after that night, though: One, you’d been right about Steve not sucking (metaphorically, at least); and two, Cate might— _might_ —not have been wrong about the lingerie. Not that you’d ever admit that to her. Some things (sucking or not) a girl had to keep to herself.


	2. Finding Out

Five weeks later, someone knocked swiftly against the door to the Rogers family apartment. The noise hardly had any time to begin before that door was thrown open from the inside. On the step stood the familiar figure of Bucky Barnes. He was dressed for the sweltering August outside in a tank top that showed off his gleaming metal arm, and had his dark hair pulled away from his neck in a messy bun.

“Did you bring the stuff?” you asked. Wordlessly, Bucky lifted his flesh arm to show you a thin plastic bag. You grabbed his other wrist and yanked him inside your home. The door swung closed behind you.

“What the hell?” said Bucky as he staggered toward the couch. You ignored him in favor of digging through the bag he’d dumped on the coffee table.

“God, bury it in vitamins, why don’t you? Don’t you get enough of these things coursing through your blood naturally?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘natural,’” he grumbled, “and I had to buy _something_ else! Why didn’t you get your damn sister to buy it for you?”

“Cate’s in Hawaii.” Fingers finally finding your prize, you pulled the box you’d been hunting for free of Bucky’s useless supplements. “Besides, Hell will freeze over before I ask _her_ to buy me a pregnancy test.”

“But it’s okay to ask _me_? You know what it looks like for an unmarried man to buy one of those?”

“Like he’s getting more than you actually are?” Bucky scowled. You affectionately tugged at his cheek. “Keep that up, and Steve’s gonna put more drawings of you as Grumpy Cat on the fridge.”

“You said Steve was at work.”

“He is. Now quit your whining. It’s not like you’re getting nothing out of this transaction.”

He brightened at once. “You made me borsht?”

“It’s cooling as we speak.”

"You're the best friend I've ever had." With a happy sigh, he spread himself more thoroughly across the couch.

“No, _Steve’s_ the best friend you’ve ever had.”

“ _Steve_ never makes me borsht.”

That was true. You had cultivated a friendship with Bucky (and a relationship with Steve) through cooking several meals for Cate’s VA PTSD group. Now, staring at the pregnancy test in your hands as you kneeled on the carpet, you couldn’t help but wonder if all that work would turn to waste. After all, how likely was it that you’d got pregnant your very first _week_ of having sex? Would Steve believe you still when you said he was your first?

“Hey.” Bucky prodded you with his foot. “What’s the matter? You look all sweaty.”

A watery smile was shot in his direction. “Just worried, I guess. Steve and I have talked about having kids, just…not so soon.”

“Please. Steve’s been ready to be a father since before your mother was born. You’ve seen how he handles Wanda.”

“Wanda isn’t a baby.”

“Eh,” he said with a dismissive flick of his flesh hand.

“What if he thinks I was lying to him, Bucky?” you said tearfully. “What if he thinks I _did_ sleep with someone else before we got married?"

“Then he’s a bigger idiot than I gave him credit for.” Bucky’s flat tone did little to convince you. Upon seeing that, he sat on the floor next to you and pulled you against his side. “That’s not going to happen. And if it does, don’t worry about it. _I’ll_ help you raise the kid. I’ve done it before, with Natasha even. I think.”

A frown creased his forehead. Not wanting him to worry himself into a foul mood, you sniffed, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and stood.

“You’re a good guy.” Bucky snorted. “I’m gonna go take this before I lose my nerve. _Don’t_ touch the borsht yet,” you added. “It’s not done.”

You heard him muttering darkly about your tone as you walked down the hallway and into the bathroom. His voice disappeared when you closed the door. Above your head hummed a light that set all the clean surfaces aglow. The blood in your veins buzzed right along with it, nervous and excited all at once.

Reading the instructions for the test took you no time at all. Doing the deed went just as quickly. Waiting for the results, on the other hand, felt as though it took forever and a day. You had left your phone in the living room (no doubt Bucky had already broken into it and was using your account to kick Steve’s ass at Words with Friends), so you had nothing to do but sit and stare, watch and wait.

It felt like you’d aged thirty years by the time the test gave you your answer: positive. You gaped at the thing before dumping it in the trashcan nestled next to the toilet. Of course, it might have been a false positive. Several extra tests remained for you to make sure later, but… _pregnant_?

Shakily, you stood and pressed your palms to your stomach. The woman in the mirror didn’t _look_ pregnant. In fact, she looked much the same as she had on her wedding day, especially now that the tan from her honeymoon had started to fade. But somewhere deep inside her, something was starting to grow, something that belonged to you and Steve. A baby. You and Steve were going to have a _baby_.

“Bucky, we’re leaving!” you shouted, bursting out of the bathroom.

“What? What are you talking about?”

He found you in the bedroom in the process of gathering your purse and keys. “Grab your belongings. We’re going to tell Steve.”

“Tell Steve _what_?”

“That I’m pregnant!”

“The test was positive?”

“Yes. Keep up!” You glared at him, but Bucky didn’t budge. “ _Move_! He should still be at headquarters, but so help me God, he isn’t going on any life-threatening missions without knowing he has a baby on the way!”

“Can’t you just _call_ him?” Bucky asked, and earned himself a dirty look in doing so.

“This is something you say in person. Now I’m leaving, whether you’re coming or not.”

You attempted to shove past him toward the front door. He allowed you to struggle for a few seconds before he pushed you gently backward.

“You are _not_ taking your motorcycle in your condition.”

“What _condition_?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re pregnant.”

At last, you halted the effort to shove Bucky’s rock hard body aside, and properly looked at him. There was no malice in his expression. Just typical Bucky Barnes irritation. You gave up.

“Fine, _Mom_ ,” you said. “We’ll take your car. Happy now?”

“Delighted.”

You followed him to the front door, where he pulled his keys out of his pocket. That was when it hit you: “You’re going to be such a good godfather.”

“Shut up.”

You could tell, though, despite his usual demeanor, that Bucky didn’t really mean that. Why else would he have been so careful to drive you straight to the front of Avengers Tower? It wasn’t said, but you really were pleased it had been him that had been the one that helped you out. Steve wouldn’t have had it any other way.


	3. How You Told Him

Bad traffic meant it took a long, _long_ time before you got to where the Avengers were currently stationed. You spent the entire ride in a flurry of nerves, and Bucky hardly had time to put the vehicle in park before you burst out of the door and sprinted for the building. His shouts of concern and frustration quickly faded, but his pursuing footsteps did not. He remained hot on your heels as you sped through the unguarded doors—no point in a residence often occupied by the Hulk—and he might have caught you, too, if you hadn’t come to a stop of your own volition.

“What the hell, [Name]?” he said as he skidded to a halt behind you. “You’re gonna get by a car or some—oh. Hey, Sam.”

You had in fact stopped your sprint to avoid crashing headfirst into Steve’s _other_ close friend, Sam Wilson. Like Bucky, he was dressed for the summer heat, but _un_ like Bucky, he didn’t look grumpy. Sam rarely ever did. In that moment, he only looked confused.

“What are you two doing here? You’re not working this week,” he pointed at Bucky, then shifted his finger to you, “and _you_ don’t work here at all.”

“Where’s Steve?” you asked.

“In a meeting. I only left to use the restroom.”

Before you could take off a second time, Bucky placed his hands on your shoulders. They were heavy enough to effectively anchor you in place. “Can we talk to him?” he said.

“It’s important!” you added.

Sam shrugged. “They probably already know you’re here after all that ruckus.”

“Thank you!”

Again, Bucky held you back. “You don’t know where the meeting room is,” he reminded you. He wasn’t wrong, but his decision to lead you there at the slowest pace available to super soldiers almost made you regret not trying to find your destination on your own. For God’s sake, you were _pregnant_ , not made of glass!

“A little weird, isn’t she?” said Sam when you got annoyed enough to push ahead.

“Yeah, but she’s Steve’s kind of weird.”

The expected retort never exited your mouth, for at that exact moment you spotted Steve through one of the many glass walls lining the hall. His perfect mouth moved around the words of whatever he was saying to the rest of his team, completely oblivious to you standing frozen only a few feet away. Could you really do this? Sure, Steve was your husband, but when he was in hero mode like that, it was difficult to remember why, if he was going to have a kid, he would want it to be with _you_ of all people.

No, it had to be now. If Bucky or Sam—or, God forbid, _Cate_ somehow—spoiled the news before you could get your courage up to do it yourself, you’d kill them, and you’d probably feel bad about killing your sister’s counselor. Steeling yourself, you shoved open the transparent door and stepped into the room.

“It would be best if Natasha went in first, and—[Name]?”

The look on his face made it clear that Tony’s AI had _not_ notified the team of your impending arrival. You wondered if the rest of them looked as horrified as he did, but you couldn’t take your eyes off Steve’s face. Your mouth seemed to be malfunctioning, too, because all your rushing to get there had left you completely unprepared for what to actually _say_ once you’d made it.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” Steve asked.

It only occurred when Steve stepped up to you that you’d never visited him at work before. He’d never told you _not_ to, but you hadn’t wanted to interrupt his important work. Usually when he had a shift, you left him alone until he came back home. The few times you had seen him while he was on call were always prearranged lunch dates somewhere off base. No wonder he looked so worried about you bursting in unannounced! His worry did not cease when Bucky and Sam arrived, nor when the former said, “It’s okay, Steve.”

Bucky jabbing a finger into your back—at such an angel that Steve couldn’t see him doing so—spurred you to say, “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly.

Never before had you been more aware of how many eyes there were in a room. Each and every person’s there were fixed upon you: Sam’s, Bucky’s, Steve’s, Tony’s, Natasha’s, Wanda’s, even Peter’s! Was he old enough to hear this kind of thing? Did he know where babies came from? Either way, your news was exactly the kind that Steve would want to hear in private. Too bad you’d realized that too late. If you just left and told Steve you’d talk to him about it when he got home that weekend, he’d probably spend the rest of the week convinced you were leaving him and wanted a divorce.

With the rest of the Avengers looking on with great interest, you took Steve’s hands in yours.

“Steve,” you said, “we’re going to have a baby.”

His face went blank at once; his hands felt stiff in yours. You heart stopped, and then:

“Wow, that’s great! Congratulations, Captain Rogers!”

Peter’s voice broke the spell. Everyone rushed to offer their own congratulations or (in Tony’s case) snide remarks. You heard them only dimly, barely felt Natasha’s congratulatory pat on your shoulder. Had you _broken_ Steve? He had yet to move. The hand of Bucky’s still on your back tightened slightly, and you knew that he was considering _making_ Steve react if he didn’t get a move on…but then Steve did, all on his own. He grinned, and your frozen heart fluttered back to life.

“You’re pregnant?” he whispered, as though you were the only two people in the room. Teary eyed, you nodded, to which Steve responded by hoisting you into the air by your waist, spinning you around, and putting you back down only to give you a long, hard kiss.

“Get a room,” Tony and Bucky said simultaneously. Steve let you go with a sheepish smile while the other two glared at each other over your head. For a few minutes, you and Steve stared soppily back at one another. The happy moment couldn’t last forever, though. He had responsibilities, and you had to let him manage them.

“I should let you get back to work,” you said.

Steve started, having apparently forgotten where he was again. Hesitantly, he allowed Bucky to pull you back toward the hall. “See you Friday?” he asked.

“We’ll be waiting.”

“Don’t let her get into too much trouble, Buck.”

“Because it’s so easy to manage _you_ ,” Bucky replied.

Soon the meeting was back in session, and you and Bucky were on your way back to the apartment. You could feel Steve watching you all the way down the hall. Just before you left the building, you looked back to see him beaming at you. A smile of your own met his. Maybe it hadn’t been the ideal way to tell him about your growing family, but it had all worked out in the end. You knew then that everything would.


	4. Early Morning

Nine weeks after that, the big day arrived. Steve gingerly loaded you into the car without Bucky having to insist you take safe transport; you shared breakfast at Steve’s favorite café; and arrived at your gynecologist’s office exactly twenty minutes before your scheduled appointment. It was 8:10, and the waiting room only had a few other patients inside it, which gave you plenty of opportunity to stare blankly at your knees.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was as soft as the hand he brushed against your shoulder. “You okay?”

So involved in your thoughts were you that you’d forgotten he was there. You started, then, seeing the worry in his eyes, forced a smile. “I’m fine,” you assured him with a wave of your hand.

“You sure? You’ve been awfully quiet this morning.”

Had you? You hadn’t noticed. Normally, you did clam up when you were nervous, but what, really, was there to be nervous about? That day was the day you and Steve were going to find out whether you were having a boy or a girl! For weeks, you’d talked about that more than anything else, to the point where even Bucky had threatened to quit visiting you until you popped the kid out. Now you were doing everything in your power to avoid thinking about it at all.

“I’m okay,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Hmmm.” Tilting your head onto his shoulder only bought you so much time to think of an answer. “About how fast everything is moving. Once we find out what we’re having, Cate’s gonna want to throw a baby shower, and we’re going to have put together a nursery, and then I’m actually going to have to give birth…I just thought we’d have more time to enjoy being married before we become parents.”

“No one said we can’t enjoy being married _while_ being parents.”

“I know. It’s just a lot to take in.” After all, you’d only been fully considering sex for less than a year. Now you were staring down the barrel of being a mother—not that you didn’t already love the little nugget growing inside you even without being able to see her.

Unbeknownst to you, you had lapsed into silence again. Steve had to nudge you to bring you back to the present.

“So I know I’ve asked you before,” he said, “but what do you _really_ want it to be?”

If he was trying to distract you, his question did the trick. No amount of uncertain futures could put a dent in _his_ eagerness to be a father.

“I’ll love it no matter what, but can you imagine the look on Bucky’s face when we tell him we’re naming our son James?”

“And you’re still okay with the name Margaret for a girl?”

You rolled your eyes. “I can’t imagine a cooler person to name our daughter after than Peggy Carter. Especially since Clint already stole Nat’s name for _his_ kid.”

Before Steve could reply, you were called to the back. He took your hand and held it as you went through the usual steps of weighing and checking blood pressure and taking your temperature. The only times he let you go was when the nurse _made_ him do so. She left once all this was done, and soon after Dr. Williams came in.

“Mrs. Rogers.” The pretty woman with short auburn hair smiled as she shook your hand. “It’s good to see you again. _And_ you brought your husband.”

“Ma’am.” Steve inclined his head.

“So we all know what we’re here for. Let’s not keep this little guy or girl waiting any longer.” As she spoke, Dr. Williams pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and peeled the front of your shirt up. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Rogers?”

“Anxious,” you replied, “and I keep having cramps.”

“Both of those are normal for fourteen weeks in. Have you noticed anything else unusual lately?”

“No, nothing.”

“That’s good.” She flashed you another smile. “Now, what I’m going to do is put some of this ECG gel on your skin, put this wand over it, and get some pictures. If your baby is facing the right way, we’ll get a good look and find out what it’s going to be.”

“What if it’s not facing the right way?” Steve asked.

“Then we’ll look again next time. I’ll still be able to check for common problems today. Are you ready?”

She directed the question at you. Obviously. What did _Steve_ have to be ready for? You gave the doctor a shaky nod that turned into a hiss when that gel touched your belly. Dr. Williams chuckled as Steve’s fingers clamped around your shoulders.

“Cold?” she said. “Don’t worry. It’ll warm up soon. Relax, Captain. I’m not going to hurt her.”

“It’s already warming up,” you told him, and finally his grip softened a little. You weren’t lying, either. The gel warmed considerably as the doctor spread it down your stomach and across your pelvis.

“Ready?” she asked again, this time of you both.

“Ready.”

The light touch of the wand tickled as it ran gently across your skin. Each person’s attention was drawn to the little screen nearby that showed a whole lot of black and white scribbles as far as you could tell. Dr. Williams “mmm”-ed and “ahhh”-ed to herself for several minutes, and then:

“There she is.”

“She?” you squeaked.

“Yes. She’s right…there.”

You felt Steve’s hand tighten on your shoulder for a second time. “A daughter.” His voice was hoarse. “Our little Margaret Catheryn Rogers.”

The happy tears that rushed to your eyes were too great for you to spare much disappointment over not getting to tell Bucky you were going to name a son after him. Even there, as tiny and alien as she looked in the ultrasound, your daughter was perfect.

“Oh, Steve. She’s beautiful.”

“Looks just like her mother.”

A burbled laugh broke out of your mouth. How Steve could even see what made Maggie Maggie was beyond you. You sure couldn’t. But you didn’t get a chance to ask Dr. Williams for clarification. She was up and already at the door.

“Would you please excuse me for a moment?” she said.

“Of course,” said Steve.

She left, though you hardly noticed. You had a feeling that if you weren’t covered in goo, Steve would have grabbed you for another spin around the room. Instead, he kissed you on the top of your head, again and again and again until you couldn’t help but giggle.

“A girl,” he said breathlessly. “We’re going to have a girl!”

“Looks like it.”

“We’ll have to start the nursery. Is pink an okay color? Does that make her room an oppressive piece of patriarchy?”

“I think it’s a fine color.” You laughed. “If she wants to change it when she’s older, she can.”

Someone cut across his reply with a knock. Confused, you shot Steve a look, but Steve appeared just as confused as you felt. Then the door opened, and in came Dr. Williams. She was not alone. This time, she was accompanied by a man you recognized as another doctor there, though you couldn’t recall his name.

“Mrs. Rogers. Captain.” He looked old enough to have known Steve pre-freezing, but his grip when he shook your hand was strong. “How are you both doing today? I’m Dr. Rush, one of Dr. Williams’ colleagues here.”

“I’m fine,” you said slowly.

“Is there something wrong?” asked Steve.

“Maybe,” Dr. Williams said from where she remained by the door. Your insides froze up. No one spoke for several seconds. Only Dr. Rush moved. Without speaking, he took up the discarded ultrasound wand and started to look inside your womb.

“What are you—” Steve started.

“Just one moment, please,” Dr. Rush interrupted. Silence fell again, but that time its end was swift. He sighed, looking over at your doctor. “Yes, Sheryl, I think you’re right. I can’t think of anything else it might be.”

“Think _what_ might be?” you demanded. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

Dr. Williams took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rogers. I was hoping I was wrong. That’s why I asked Dr. Rush for a second opinion. I’m sorry. You’re baby has anencephaly—specifically holoanencephaly, by the look of things.”

“What’s that?” said Steve.

This time, Dr. Rush answered: “A neural tube defect. In this case—and most cases—the brain has entirely failed to form.”

“Can you fix it?” You closed your eyes as soon as the question left your mouth. No sense in seeing the pity in everyone else’s gaze. What a stupid thing to ask. Already Maggie was old enough to have a skull and apparently didn’t. Even Tony Stark couldn’t fix that.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Williams repeated. “We can’t.”

“And you’re sure that she has this disorder?” Steve asked.

“There’s always a chance we’re wrong when it comes to fetal birth defects.”

“But with anencephaly, an ultrasound during the second trimester is usually highly accurate,” said Dr. Rush. “How far along are you, Mrs. Rogers?”

“About fourteen weeks,” you answered faintly.

He spread his hands as if that settled the matter. The doctor’s manner was calm and kind, but that gesture enraged you. Five minutes! _Five minutes_ , if that, was all you’d had with your perfect child before he’d come and snatched her away.

“How could this have happened? What did someone do to prevent her from growing a brain?”

“Maybe it’s my fault,” Steve said, his voice and eyes hollow. “I had so many disorders growing up. But the serum—I thought…”

“There’s no evidence that either of your genes are at all to blame,” said Dr. Rush.

“It’s a rare disorder, but in most cases, there is no genetic link,” Dr. Williams put in. “There might be a link to a lack of folic acid in the first month, but we don’t know if that’s the case here. Neither of you planned on getting pregnant, so you couldn’t have selected your diet in advance.”

Your mind raced back in time. What had you consumed that first month of ignorance? Leftover wedding cake? Peach Bellinis? Nothing fit for a baby, that was certain. A whimper clawed its way out of throat despite your best efforts to squash it down. No one seemed to hear you anyway.

“What do we do? What _can_ we do?” Steve asked.

All of a sudden, the crowded exam room felt as though it were drifting away. Everyone’s voice came out small and soft, and the edges of the bright lights faded in your eyes. Your head spun.

“That depends entirely on you both,” Dr. Williams was telling your husband. “A live birth is, physically speaking, the healthiest, but most children won’t live more than a day with this condition. The exceptions never live past the age of three.”

“So you’re saying she'll die right after she's born.”

“Live birth is one option. The other,” came Dr. Rush’s voice from very far away, “is an abortion.”

“An abortion?”

Whatever Steve had to say about that suggestion, you would have to wait to find out. You’d have to wait to figure out what you had to say as well. For at that moment, as people around you discussed the fate of the daughter you hardly knew, all the lights and the voices together went out.


	5. Making Plans

It only took you a few minutes to come around, if that long. Reality came surging back far too quickly for your tastes—though not quickly enough for everyone else’s, judging by the expressions on their faces. Your little fainting spell was attributed to shock and dehydration, and—after you refused going to the hospital for an IV perhaps more vehemently than necessary—Drs. Williams and Rush allowed you to go home as long as Steve promised to keep you hydrated. He did. In fact, he bought you a Gatorade at the first gas station you came across on the return drive. But it was a quiet drive after that, too quiet for either of you to risk speaking what was on your mind.

You found yourself not long after laying on the couch. Steve had insisted you rest the minute you set foot in the apartment. Since everything still felt surreal, you did as you were told, though you weren’t really resting. Instead, you stared unceasingly at the empty Gatorade bottle sitting on the coffee table. If you blinked or otherwise moved at all, you were afraid that you entire body might shatter like glass.

“Bucky, you can’t come over tonight.” Steve’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, where he was making a phone call. “I know it’s tradition…[Name] isn’t feeling well…No, don’t come over…I’ll be fine. It’s not contagious…Look, I’ll let you know when she’s better, all right?…Yes, I promise…Bye, Buck.”

As Steve’s call drew to an end, you shut your eyes. On any other Thursday, you would have been getting dinner ready for your weekly meal with Bucky and Steve. Having them together in one room was always a good time. Steve was right, though. You weren’t up for any company just then, especially company who might be concerned about your health.

Speak of the Devil. At that very moment, you heard Steve headed your direction. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you did open your eyes, and soon he stood in your field of vision.

“Finish your Gatorade?” You nodded. “Here. I brought you some water. You can drink this, too."

You found it easier to do what he said than to think up your own things to do, so you sat up and drained the glass. It joined the Gatorade bottle in one mechanical motion.

“Can I sit here?”

Steve gestured at the space on the couch that you’d made by sitting up. Though your chest clenched around your lungs, you nodded a second time, then scooted over. You couldn’t avoid having the conversation forever, after all. He sat down and wrapped one arm around your shoulders.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

A slightly hysterical laugh burst out of your mouth. “I’m not doing very well, Steve,” you answered, “and I can’t imagine you’re feeling great right now either.”

“No, I’m not,” he said grimly.

As usual, Steve did an excellent job of not looking as awful as he felt. There was, however, a familiar tiredness in his blue eyes that you hadn’t seen since before Bucky came back from Wakanda. You snuggled up against him and slowly inhaled his familiar smell. It didn’t change facts, but having him tangibly there with you made you feel a little stronger all the same.

“What are we going to do?” you whispered after several minutes of silence passed.

“What we have to do.”

Wrapping your arms around where your baby bump had only started to show, you thought about how ironic life was. Just that morning, you’d been worried about how busy you’d be preparing the world for little Maggie. Now you faced a world that would never have her in it. She couldn’t feel your hands on your stomach then. She never _could_.

“We’re going to have to tell everyone she isn’t coming,” you said. “Bucky’s going to be heartbroken.” Whine and moan though he might, you knew he’d really been looking forward to Steve having a kid. One more thing to experience Bucky had thought taken away forever, only for you to take it away instead.

“Cate, too. Before she makes the trip up here,” Steve said.

“She was so excited to be an aunt.”

“I’ll tell the rest of the team. You don’t need to be there for that. If Bucky comes, too, then—”

“He deserves to be told in private.” Your voice sounded much firmer than it had any right to be. “I’ll handle my family, too. That should take care of almost everyone.”

All of this to avoid the most important question. You and Steve hadn’t always been easy conversationalists. Before you’d started dating each other, he’d been shy, and you were too modest to _dream_ of catching Captain America’s eye. If Bucky hadn’t been there to prod you in the right direction, you and Steve might have _never_ started talking. There had been a lot of uncomfortable silences at the start of your relationship, but the current one took the cake. Both of you, surely, were thinking along the same lines. Yet the hush went on and on and on, until you were afraid you would scream or pass out again.

Then Steve gave the question life: “So what are we going to do?”

This time, you knew he meant the difficult question, the one neither of you wanted to face. You weren’t sure if you _could_ face it, and your voice was high and hushed when you answered:

“What are we going to do about what?”

You had gone so long without tears. Strong, you reminded yourself, you were strong. Steve Roger’s wife ought to have been strong enough not to cry over a baby she’d never known. Then Steve pulled you into his lap and all was lost. A rough sob erupted from your mouth. More followed, all stifled by Steve’s chest. Clinging to him, you cried into the front of his shirt, and even his scent was not enough to sooth you. All you were able to do was bawl…until you felt something wet on the top of your head.

Looking up, you saw that Steve was crying, too. Large drops of water ran from his eyes; his face had gone an unusually unflattering shade of red. He comforted you, but he needed comforting as well. Too bad you were in no position to offer him some.

“I don’t know what to do, Steve,” you said hoarsely.

“According to the doctors,” he said, “you’ve got two options. You can keep her, and she’ll die, or you can abort her.”

“And she’ll still die.” You sniffed. “I don’t like either of these ‘options.’”

“Neither do I, but they’re all we have.”

If you demanded that Steve find you other options, he would try. That you knew. You also knew that the only option you wanted was for someone to fix Maggie. Tony Stark created AIs and metal prosthetics. Why couldn’t he do it for her?

Steve already would have asked him. He trusted Tony with his life. No matter what, Tony wouldn’t tell anyone what happened on purpose—but he couldn’t give Maggie life. How could he? You couldn’t even give her life, and you were supposed to be her _mother_.

“Wh-What do _you_ want me to do?” you asked with your fingers still twisted into Steve’s shirt.

“I can’t make this decision for you. It’s your body, [Name].”

“You can tell me what you want, can’t you?”

“I don’t want to influence your choice.”

“Just tell me what to do, Steve!”

He carefully pulled your hands out of his shirt and held them in his. However hysterical you grew, he was not going to decide for you. He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, causing another cascade of tears to flow down your cheeks. You shook your head wildly, but he didn’t let go.

“I can’t! I can’t! I can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

Steve remained calm. “Do you want to give birth to her?”

You shuddered thinking about bringing Maggie to term, about seeing her distorted head on her lifeless little body, about holding her in your arms and knowing you’d only brought her and her father pain.

“I don’t think I _can_ ,” you whispered.

“Then do you want to abort her now?”

“I can’t do that either.” You were her mother, whether she had a brain or not. It didn’t matter what the doctors said, Maggie remained perfect in your eyes. How could you choose to kill her?

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” said Steve, as he let your hands go only to pull you in for a hug. “Soon, though. You have to decide soon.”

Really, you’d already made your decision. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he knew that you’d change it in a heartbeat, too, just to make sure he wouldn’t hate you. You were almost sure he would. When he left you on the couch to go make dinner, you’d never felt more cold in your entire life.


	6. Hold My Hand

No one spoke a word during the drive to the women’s clinic a week and a half later. A fog of sadness had descended upon you. Your eyes fixed unseeingly on the buildings and cars you passed, and nothing else. In the seat next to you, Steve sat equally pensive. Even Bucky—the one doing the driving at his own insistence—couldn’t think of anything to say. Only when he parked the car did the stifling silence come to an end.

“Are you ready?” Steve asked you.

“Yes,” you replied.

You’d never felt _less_ ready for something to occur. He knew that. Felt the same way, probably. For another minute or two, you simply looked at each other. Then Steve opened his car door, and the spell was broken.

“You don’t have to come inside, Buck,” he said.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I offered to drive the getaway car. Like hell are you going out there without me.”

“There’s no reason for you to join us. We’ll be fine.”

“As always, you remain adorably ignorant of how the world you live in works.”

“I’m optimistic, not ignorant.”

“Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe,” Bucky muttered as he got out of the car.

Though your legs felt like jelly, somehow they managed to keep you standing after Steve opened your door and you stepped out into the parking lot. You blinked in the sudden surge of bright sunlight. It seemed far too nice outside for your mood. Shouldn’t the weather have reflected how awful you felt? Why the warmish November day when rain and snow were perfectly acceptable at that time of year?

Then again, bad weather might have been too much to handle. Your two companions were grim enough on their own. You could hardly look at Steve, so much had he changed in the past few days. He held you as he usually did, however, and did so then.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly. “We can still leave if you’ve changed your mind.”

“She’s already made her decision, Steve. Don’t make this harder than it already is,” said Bucky.

His presence for your procedure was a bit of a sore spot between you and Steve. The second Steve had given him the news about Maggie and what you’d chosen to do about her, Bucky had refused to let you go without him—to protect you, he’d said. No amount of arguing on Steve’s part could convince Bucky otherwise, and to be honest, you felt a little better with Bucky there. Your appreciation increased at his coming to your defense like that.

“Okay, let’s get going then,” said Steve, and he released you.

He sounded much braver than you felt. Bucky was right; you had made your decision. Your steps were slowed, though, by the thought that it was the wrong one. Maggie would not have to endure any pain by not being born, and preventing that might make things less painful for you and Steve, as well as Cate and Bucky and your parents and everyone else invested in your and Steve’s happiness. Still, she _was_ your daughter. Always would be. And death was coming from you, the woman that should have given her life.

All you could do was blankly follow Steve around the building. Bucky remained close behind. Sandwiched as you were between two hulking men (and lost in your thoughts), you didn’t see (or hear) the trouble until it was upon you. Steve stopped, and only Bucky’s hands on your shoulders prevented you from crashing into the former’s back.

“Protesters,” Bucky spat.

You peeked around Steve. The entrance to the facility swarmed with angry people. Many of them held signs. Some held what looked to be rotting fruits. All of them chanted so that it was difficult to make what any one person was saying. Must have been the same sort of things emblazoned on their signs. Things like:

“ABORTION doesn’t make you ‘un’pregnant; it makes you the MOTHER of a DEAD BABY!”

“Terminate ALL Pregnancies…AFTER Nine Months!”

“Abortion: Punishment for choosing the wrong mother.”

And

“How much does abortion cost? One human life.”

You didn’t have time to see much more than that and the horrible photos and illustrations adorning their poster boards before something whizzed at you from the direction of the crowd. With a gasp, you ducked back behind your husband. Bucky’s flesh arm shot out and caught the projectile with ease, proving your suspicion that the protesters had fruit when he crushed the tomato in his hand.

“Do you see what I meant about protecting her now?” he said pointedly. Steve looked from the squashed vegetable to you, to the protesters, and then set his jaw. You knew that look, and were too shocked by the anger buzzing around you to consider trying to calm him down. He planted his feet firmly on the cement and said in a loud, strong voice:

“Let us through.”

At once the throng fell quiet. Your muscles started to unwind, though Bucky did not relax the hand still clutching your shoulder. He had good reason not to. The buzzing started up again, lower and faster, before someone at the front realized:

“But you’re Steve Rogers! You’re Captain America!”

All hell broke loose. The crowd surged closer than ever, thrusting signs directly at you. You hid your face in Steve’s back, but that didn’t prevent you from hearing what they had to say.

“You’re going to let them cut out your baby?”

“You’re Captain America!”

“That whore already has you whipped, eh, Rogers?”

“You’re _Captain America_!”

“Captain America supports the killing of children?”

“What’s that bitch—”

“Leave her alone.”

The last voice belonged to Bucky. His was calm; his stance was not. Steve had told him he couldn’t take any weapons along with him to the Women’s Health Center, but—as usual—Bucky hadn’t listened. You didn’t know where he’d pulled the knife from. He had one, though, and a look in his eyes that made it clear he was not afraid to use it if one more tomato came your way. Far from getting the protesters to back off, however, the unspoken threat made them angrier.

“Gonna kill us before you kill the baby?”

“Why don’t you just have your pal there do the murdering? Bet he killed lots of kids for HYDRA.”

“Always knew Barnes would lead you to a bad end.”

“Wife already sleeping around? Can’t keep a leash on her?”

“So you got knocked up by your husband’s best friend and the answer is murder?”

You snapped. They could say all the horrible things they wanted about you. They could insult Steve because he could take care of himself. But to imply to Bucky that either of you might be unfaithful to Steve? _That_ was a step too far.

“Shut up,” you said, glaring at the mob. The hot tears in your eyes wouldn’t do much to convince them to do so, but you had to try. “You’re all making this harder than it already is. This isn’t Bucky’s baby, and if you ever—”

But they cut you off with further chanting. More tears stung your eyes. Those people didn’t care that your heart broke over saying goodbye to Maggie. They only wanted to hurt you as badly as they believed you were going to hurt her. Nothing you said would ever change their minds.

Steve must have thought the same. He ceased arguing with the group and looked over his shoulder at Bucky.

“Buck.”

“What?”

“Don’t stab anybody.”

“But—”

“They can’t hurt us. Take [Name] and get her inside. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

You tried to object. Go inside without Steve? While he spoke to the people accusing you and Bucky of having an affair? The chance of changing his mind never came. Bucky took your hand and dove headlong into the crowd. The last thing you saw before he yanked you into the building was Steve disappearing underneath a tide of waving signs.


	7. Gone Forever

Maggie was gone more quickly than you would have imagined possible. Twenty minutes. That was all it took. Twenty minutes, and you were no longer a mother—or, as the kind people who had greeted you at the facility would say, you were the mother of a dead baby. You felt more like the latter, truthfully. Even with her gone, you wanted to hold her in your arms.

A few hours after you’d come home from your procedure, you got out of bed. You’d thought you would feel a whole lot worse than you did. Outside of some cramping easily lessened by pain medication, you felt mostly yourself. You felt more like yourself than you had at all in the past week and a half, in fact, and that included feeling hungry.

The apartment stayed quiet as you left the bedroom and wandered down the hall toward the kitchen. No one made a peep. You peeked into the office still half-transformed into a nursery. No Steve. You glanced into the living room as you passed it. He wasn’t there either. You saw no one at all until you reached your destination, and it was Bucky that sat at the kitchen table with a newspaper held between his hands. Steve remained nowhere to be seen.

“What are _you_ doing here?” you asked.

Bucky looked up with wide eyes, tossed his paper down, and ran right to you. “What are you _doing_? You shouldn’t be out of bed!” he said, dragging you back up the hall. “

“I’m fine. Bucky!” You had to shout to get him to quit pulling on your arm. _Some_ people’s were easier to yank out of their socket than the people he normally roughed up. “They said I don’t have to rest all day. All I have to do is avoid sex and exercise until tomorrow.”

“So you feel okay?” he asked as he reluctantly let go of your arm.

“Just a bit of cramping and bleeding. Nothing too awful. Actually, I came out here to get something to eat.”

“Er…right. I can get you something.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded uncomfortably before returning to the kitchen. You followed at a slower pace. By the time you arrived, something that smelled like the stew Steve had made the night before was cooking in the microwave. Seeing that Bucky had vacated his spot at the table, you slid into his empty seat.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked.

“Huh? Oh. He’s…”

“Not here.”

“Right.” Bucky winced where he stood at the counter. Doing so rather ruined the effect of his casual shrug after. “He’s out. Asked me to watch you for a bit.”

“Why would I need watching?”

He shrugged again. Before he could try a different answer, the microwave beeped, and Bucky turned to retrieve your meal. His eyes looked anywhere but directly at you as he brought the Tupperware and a spoon to the table.

You swallowed a bite of stew, narrowed eyes centered on Bucky. He, in turn, kept his gaze on the front of the refrigerator. Surely he had seen all of those sketches him as a cat before. Steve hadn’t been in the mood to draw much lately, so nothing new adorned the fridge’s silver surface. Something was definitely going on.

“Seriously, Bucky. Where did Steve go?”

“He had a few things to take care of, that’s all. He’ll be back soon. Promise,” he added when he caught a glimpse of your skeptical expression.

What was so important that Steve had _left_ you like that? True, you were not in dire straits. You were still sad, obviously, but now that the hard part was over with, you felt able to control that sadness a little. But that didn’t mean you wanted to do all that without your husband. Bucky acting so strangely only keyed you up worse. Something was being hidden from you, and you didn’t like it.

He interrupted your thoughts by clearing his throat. His cheeks had gone red.

“[Name]?”

“What?”

“You know I…about what those assholes said—you and me—we’re not—it isn’t like…I don’t like you like that. You know that. Right?”

“Of course I do!” Bucky’s relieved smile transformed rapidly into a scowl when you went on, “Cate’s the one that’s got the hots for your body. Not me.”

“Like hell will I go out with your crazy sister,” he muttered.

“Is that what all of this is about? Steve thinks we’re sleeping around together behind his back?”

“No, no! I just wanted you to know, I’d never…you’re my best friend’s wife, and one of my best friends to boot.”

You hardly noticed his continued ramblings over the whir of your own thoughts. Could Steve really believe that you’d cheat on him? Though you and Bucky were close, neither of you’d ever been romantically interested in each other! Then again, Steve’s serum had literally perfected him. Was it so out of the question that, with Bucky’s less-than-perfect knockoff serum, Maggie’s less-than-perfect body had been created by someone else?

“I have to talk to him right now!” you said, leaping to your feet.

“What? _Why_?”

“He has to know that I’d never—that we’d never—”

“[Name].” Bucky’s voice was calm enough to keep you from sprinting out of the apartment. “Steve knows that.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” you demanded.

Gently, Bucky eased you back into your seat. Your soup sat there growing cold, but you didn’t feel so hungry anymore. Not when your husband of four months was probably getting Matt Murdock to draw up divorce papers right then and there.

“Steve didn’t leave you. He went out to take care of those nutty pro-lifers.”

_That_ got your attention. “What do you mean, 'take care' of them?”

“Well, he couldn’t do much before your appointment, but he sure didn’t like what they said to you. As soon as he got you settled here, he set off to be that ass in shining armor we all know and love.”

Some of the tension in your chest eased. That sounded more like Steve. If he’d really thought Bucky had got you pregnant, friend or not, you weren’t sure Bucky would remain alive to tell the tale. All the same, “How do we know for sure that’s what he’s doing?”

“Oh, it’ll be on the news tonight for sure.” Bucky grinned. “I bet he calls me to bail him out of jail before long, too. He hasn’t abandoned you, [Name]. Steve loves you. More than anything.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Bucky. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Life wasn’t perfect. Maggie was still gone, and there was mourning to be done. With people in your life like Steve and Bucky, though, you had the feeling you were going to make it through just fine.


	8. Scars

“Hey, Steve. It’s [Name]. You probably knew that from my voice. And my number. Um. Just wondering where you are. I’m not used to you disappearing overnight. You’ve probably got a good reason. Just…call me back? Love you. Bye.”

_Beep!_

“Bucky? It’s me again. Do you know where Steve went? I still can’t get ahold of him. He’s probably with you. Right? I know you’re busy with work, but call me. Please?”

_Beep!_

“Tony, it’s [Name] Rogers. Steve’s wife? You…already knew that. Sorry. Is Steve with you? I can’t find him. Thanks. Bye.”

_Beep!_

“Sam. Please tell me you’ve abducted Steve for some therapeutic boys' night out. He’s been gone since I woke up this morning. I’m starting to worry. Oh, it’s [Name]. Thanks for your help. Okay. Bye.”

_Beep!_

“Steve. _Please_ come home.”

_Beep!_

Sighing, you tossed your cellphone onto the coffee table and flopped back on the sofa. The ceiling looked exactly the same as it had every other time you’d tried to distract yourself looking at it that day—and those times had been many. Waking up to find your husband gone with no note, no call, no anything to indicate where he’d gone to was scary. Being unable to get ahold of anyone else who might know where he might be was scarier still.

Surely Steve was fine. Yes, he’d been somewhat quiet and distant since the service for Maggie, but he was fine. Someone would let you know if he wasn’t. Right? Unless all of Steve’s friends had decided to excommunicate you over your role in his daughter’s death. His feelings would be a priority even for Bucky, not to mention all the rest of the Avengers.

You covered your face with your hands and screamed into your palms. What was the matter with you? [Name] Rogers did _not_ sit around the apartment moping when her husband was away. When you’d agreed to marry Steve, it was with the understanding he’d sometimes be in danger (due mostly to his own idiocy, according to Bucky). That that included his weeks off-duty, however, you’d been unaware of.

Rolling to your side, you picked up your phone to check its screen. Still no calls. Still no texts. You didn’t know what else to expect. If anyone was going to call you back, they’d have done so since you’d started bothering them at 9:00 that morning. The clock on your DVD player now read 7:30 PM, and you were too hungry to wait for an answer any longer.

Your bare feet hit the carpet before taking you to the kitchen beyond. Maybe it was your imagination, but every move you made seemed to echo. The papers on the fridge rustled as you passed—sketches of Bucky, water colors of you, photos of you and Steve on your honeymoon, Christmas cards from family and friends. All the happy, frozen faces never changed, but were they about to leave your life forever?

Clearly, you needed someone to talk to before the empty apartment pushed you over the edge. After scrolling through your phone’s list of contacts, you made to call the only person you hadn’t already called that day. Then you headed to the refrigerator to collect lettuce, beets, carrots, and feta while ringing filled the room.

“Hey, sis! What’s up?”

Words could not express the relief you felt upon seeing Cate’s face on your little screen. She looked much the same as you, though a little darker-complected, more muscular, and older.

“Not much,” you replied as you set to preparing your salad for one. “How are you?”

“I’m absolutely fantastic. You know Colonel Rhodes—I mean, James—asked me on a date? But don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. You don’t call me when you’re fine.”

“Really, Cate. Everything here is all right.”

She raised her thick eyebrows. “Do I need to come beat up a bitch?”

“You can’t beat up Steve. He’s Captain America.”

“I’ll beat up anyone who upsets my baby sister. And I never said anything about Captain Rogers.”

You froze in the middle of chopping lettuce. “Damn.” How did she always manage to make you slip like that?

“So, spill. What’s got you and Cap in a tizzy?”

“We’re not in a tizzy. He’s just…not here.”

“Oh my god. He _left_ you?”

“What? No. I got up this morning, and—”

“He left you. Over the abortion. What a jackass.”

“He did _not_. I’m sure he’s just busy with the Avengers.”

“It’s not his week,” Cate said, and as she did, your stomach sank. You couldn’t pretend the thought hadn’t occurred to you, but you’d been trying so hard to ignore it. Some threats required a little extra muscle. That was all.

“Maybe they had an emergency and called him in.”

“Did he leave you a note?”

“No.”

“You said he’s been gone a lot since the funeral.”

“Well, yeah.”

The tiny Cate on the screen shoved herself away from a table and stood.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

“To your place. I’m staying until Captain Rogers gets home, and then I’m going to punch him until he takes you back.”

A thrill of fear flashed up your spine. You weren’t quite sure why. Cate would do it, that you understood, but she couldn’t do much to hurt Steve. He knew better than to fight back against normal people, too, so your sister wasn’t likely to get hurt either. Perhaps it was just that…

“If Steve leaves me, he leaves me. I don’t want to cause him more pain than I already have.”

Her expression softened. “You’re in pain, too, [Name]. He’s not the only one that lost a daughter.”

“I know, but—”

“Excuse me.”

You let out a sharp gasp as you whirled to face the kitchen entrance. So focused on Cate had you been that you hadn’t heard Steve come inside. He wore his uniform, sans helmet, and a nasty collection of bruises and cuts on his face. No words passed between you, then:

“Oh, hey, Cap!” Cate chirped from the phone on the counter behind you.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached for the end call button. “I’ll talk to you later, Cate,” you said before pressing it.

Silence rang in the room. The way Steve looked at you, you knew you were in trouble. He’d heard most—if not all—of your discussion with your sister. Sure enough, when he finally spoke, it was to say:

“You thought I left you.”

You resisted the urge to flinch like a kicked puppy. “What was I supposed to think?”

“That I had an important mission come up.”

“An important mission you couldn’t tell me about? On your week off?”

“It’s happened before.”

“Not like this.”

“When we got married, you knew—”

“I _called_ you!” you said loudly. “I called you I don’t know how many times. I called Bucky and Sam and Tony. _Tony_ , Steve! Because I didn’t know where you were. I know you’re mad at me, but Jesus! You can’t just vanish on me like that!”

It was the longest tirade you’d ever spoke against him. Though you both fought like any other couple, most of the time your arguments were brief. Once you’d said your piece, you cooled off. Steve looked thunderstruck by your rant.

“Since when I have been mad at you?” he asked.

“Don’t play dumb. Ever since Maggie—ever since my procedure, you’ve been acting all weird. You hardly talk to me. You work all the time. You left me here with _Bucky_ right after. And then this morning you disappeared without so much as a goodbye. You could have _died_ on this important mission! So tell me what I was supposed to think, Steve, if you haven’t decided to divorce me?”

All the tears left unshed over this treatment rushed to your throat and constricted your voice. You squeezed your eyes shut and turned away from him. Maybe you ought to have let Cate rough him up a little, if he was only going to—

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

Gentle hands turned you away from the cutting board. Then Steve’s strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you into a hug. He smelled awful, like blood and exhaust. Even so, you did not pull away. His sorrowful gaze kept you in place.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry that I’ve been distant. It’s not you. I’ve just lost so many people that losing Maggie, too…it hurt. And there was no one to punish for it. When Tony called last night about an emergency, I didn’t hesitate to suit up. I thought punching the crap out of something might make me feel a little better.”

“You should have left me a note.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry about that, too.”

Even stinking to high Heaven, Steve’s closeness soothed your frazzled nerves. He didn’t lie to anyone, especially not to you. Shuddering, you peered up at him, and in a small voice said:

“So you don’t hate me for having the abortion?”

“No. I think you made the right choice.”

“You do?”

“Maggie was going to die anyway. At least this way, we didn’t have to wait five more months to watch her do so. I just…miss her so much.”

You stood on your tiptoes to carefully kiss Steve’s split lips. “I miss her, too. I always will.”

“But just to be clear,” he said, “I’ll always love you. Kids or no kids, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. There’s no way I’ll ever divorce you because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and nobody else.”

“Not even Bucky?” You lifted a brow.

Steve chuckled. “Well, I’d prefer if he was always close by, but I still love you more.”

“I love you, too. Now,” you pushed him back, “why don’t you go clean up while I finish this salad?”

He prevented you from returning to your vegetable chopping. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said in response to your questioning look. “Why don’t you join me in the shower, and we’ll make dinner together afterward?”

With an offer like that, how could you refuse?


	9. Sunrise

Bucky, during his many years of life, had surely seen a lot of disconcerting things. Just how many you didn’t really know. He didn’t like to talk about most of them, and so many were behind him now. But finding you and Steve beaming at and welcoming him into your apartment one sunny Thursday afternoon must have ranked pretty high up there on his list of weird. The look on his face told you as much.

“You guys move to Stepford without telling me?” he asked as he squeezed between the two of you into the sitting room.

“What, we can’t be pleased to see you every once and awhile?” Steve asked, closing the door.

“Not _that_ happy. Would you quit smiling? It’s giving me the creeps.”

Unbeknownst to Bucky, his attitude only caused your smile to widen. You settled onto the armchair across from the couch. Steve did the same in the opposite chair.

“Do I need to call Dr. Strange?” Bucky said.

“We’re not pod people,” you assured him with a wave of your hand.

“Sounds an awful lot like something a pod person would say.”

“Like Steve said, we’re just happy to see you. You’ve been so busy leading the Avengers we hardly get to have dinner together anymore.”

“Speaking of, how’s that going?” asked Steve.

Bucky eyed him with obvious suspicion. His thumb brushed against the face of the phone clenched in his flesh hand. “You should know. You’re there, too, every other week. Can we just eat now?”

“Roast’s in the oven,” you said. “It’ll be done in twenty minutes. Now answer his question.”

“It’s fine, I guess. Natasha’s a big help. We’ve got Shuri staying with us for a bit, too, for ‘training purposes.’ Personally, I think T’Challa just wanted her far, far away while he and Nakia plan their wedding.”

“She any good?”

“Spends most of her time with her girlfriend, Michelle. But Shuri was already a spectacular fighter. As long as she comes in when we need her, it’s fine. Dinner now?”

You and Steve exchanged a meaningful look. Sighing, he sat forward, causing Bucky to look warier than ever.

“If you two don’t cough up what’s going on in the next thirty seconds, I’m calling the nearest exorcist.”

“Bucky,” you started as you reached over to put your hand on top his metal one that rested on the coffee table. “We’ve got something to show you.”

Without saying a word, Steve pulled a black-and-white photograph out of his back pocket. He placed it on the table and slid it over to Bucky, who picked it up with a frown as soon as he’d freed his hand.

“What’s that supposed to be?” he asked.

“We wanted you to be the first to know…” Steve began.

“…We’re having a baby,” you finished.

Bucky’s blue eyes grew enormous as he looked from you, to the ultrasound picture, to Steve, and back again through the entire cycle.

“You’re—”

“Pregnant!” you crowed.

“And—and this is the kid? They’re okay?”

“I’m five months in. Dr. Williams says everything looks good. No anencephaly.”

“So this is happening? It’s really happening?”

“It’s really happening,” said Steve.

The tender gaze with which Bucky looked at the photo made your heart ache in the best of ways. A soft smile spread across his face as he met Steve’s eyes.

“So what is it?”

“A boy,” you replied.

“We’re calling him James Samuel Rogers,” Steve added.

Bucky went white and slack-jawed at once; a mist crept into his eyes that he had to wipe away. Several seconds passed before he could speak:

“You both are the _biggest_ idiots I know. And I know a lot of idiots.”

“What?” you said. “His uncle’s name is James, too. Maybe I wanted a name to stay in the family. You ever think of that, Mr. Ego?”

“But—”

“Told you he wanted to be his namesake,” Steve said in an undertone.

“I didn’t ask—”

“Of course we named him after his godfather,” you said. “Because his godfather is one of the best men to ever walk the earth.”

That time, Bucky’s eyes didn’t just mist up, they filled with tears. He turned his head to hide them, but soon he looked back up with the smallest of grins.

“You’re seriously making the Winter Soldier the kid’s godfather. You both really _are_ idiots. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Thanks, Buck,” said Steve.

Shortly thereafter, the oven went off. The celebratory mood, however, did not come to an end. Not even Steve continually coming up with other, “better” names for your son could dim the cheer. Three years after she’d gone, you still loved and missed Maggie—but with the arrival of her little brother, you felt as though a long, gray winter had finally thawed into spring.

THE END


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